Thursday's third Scene _ Seducing the Baker #MFRWauthor #romance contemporary #Bakery

Jules sat in the Jeep until the remnants of his past vanished. Why had he given into the urge to drive past the group home? Not one of his better ideas and certainly not part of his weekend plans. He reviewed the steps. There was a contract to be signed. Failure would taste bitter. Coming to grips with the betrayal of his trust wasn’t part of his plans for today either. Hard work and trusting few people had given him all he’d lost and more.

Sometimes he wondered what had happened to the people who had invested with his father’s Ponze scheme. Why had people thrown money into investments seeming too good to be real? Had they been greedy or fools?

He’d been torn from a comfortable life. Shame oozed from hidden places. Why did tingles of guilt smear his life? He’d been a teenager and hadn’t done anything wrong. Shame had driven his parents to death and he’d ended up in that place.

He gulped deep breaths of air and rubbed his hands in an attempt to warm them. The action failed to heat the past he feared would remain eternally chilled.

Cut the crap. Can’t go back. Forward is the only direction.

He’d come to the Hudson River village for two reasons. Business and a meet and greet. He wasn’t here to think of what could never be. Gnawing old bones impeded progress.

Jules slid from the Jeep. He dragged the briefcase from the passenger’s seat. With quick steps he dashed across the street and paused to study the bakery shop window. Sweet and Spicy Cupcakes. Above the ‘sweet’ a bee buzzed and above ‘spicy’ a red pepper hovered. He opened the door. Myriad scents swirled in the air. Spices, chocolate, coffee. The aromas of baking. For a moment he drowned in the delicious aromas.

The blonde behind the counter filled a box with an assortment of cupcakes for a customer. A second woman held a similar box. Moments later money changed hands and the middle-aged women filed to the door. Jules stepped aside and held the door.

One of the ladies turned. “Bonnie, are you sure you’ll have my order ready on Christmas Eve?”

“On file and can be picked up between nine AM and seven PM. We’re staying open an hour later that day.”

Jules stomach growled reminding him he hadn’t eaten lunch. The aromas swirling in the air tempted. Perhaps a taste of the wares before he engaged in business made sense and would give him a way to push for the magazine feature. He strode to the glass covered cases and read the names of the flavors. How could he choose when they all looked great?

The blonde turned from the register. “Can I help you?”

“Coffee and I don’t know which one to choose. They’re all tempting. Do you have a recommendation?”

She tapped the counter. “I do. Cinnamon Bun is my favorite. If you want something designed for the season, there’s Candy Cane, Ginger House or Winter Snow.”

Jules studied the offerings. “The cinnamon and the snow.” He paid and carried his selections to a table near the window. After filling a cup with coffee he sipped. The beverage was smooth and rich with no bitter aftertaste. He needed to learn where the shop purchased the beans.

At the table he bit into the cinnamon cupcake. The spice mellowed by the icing told him why Allie wanted to feature the shop. After finishing the first cupcake he tasted the second. A blast of wintergreen hit his palate. “Brilliant. Brings the surprise of a sudden snow storm to mind.”

The clerk grinned. “I agree.”

“Why did you turn down the chance for a feature in Good Eatin’?”

The woman’s mouth gaped. “She never told me. Not that I’m a partner or anything.”

He frowned. “So you’re not the owner.”

“Just the clerk. I’ll yell at the boss. How could she turn down the offer? That mag is rad cool.”

Jules raised his coffee cup. He had an ally. Time to find a way to use her enthusiasm. He listened to her chatter about her boss’ plan. A five year goal. Slow growth. Quality products. He waited for the clerk to run down.

“Where is the owner? I must speak to her.”

The blonde leaned on the counter. “She’s busy creating a new cupcake.”

“Is she here or at home?”

“In the back.” She pointed to a door behind the counter. “I’ll let her know you’re here but if she’s working you’ll have to wait.”

She stepped from the counter. The bell above the door chimed.

The arrival of several customers distracted the clerk. Jules couldn’t wait. He made a snap decision. On Monday morning he intended to have the signed contract delivered to Allie.

“You can’t go back there.”

Ignoring the young woman’s shout he slipped around the end of the display case and opened the door. Heat, a touch of vanilla and a jolt of rum and lemon hit him. The aromas gathered in a collage of scent.

The baker stood beside a marble topped table. She wore a long apron tied at her slender waist. Temptation to discover if his hands could span her waist nearly caused him to forget why he’d come into this room. A white hairnet covered hair as dark as his. Would her face match the delectable rear view? She held a plastic bag and swirled icing on a cupcake. The door closed with a loud snap.

Without turning she held out one of the confections. “Try this one and let me know if I’ve mastered the flavor.”

Jules accepted. The voice belonged to the woman of his brief phone conversations. During those moments he’d conjured a face to match the throaty voice. The image belonged to the only girl who had turned him down.

What if? Such an occurrence would be beyond belief. Still the thought stirred his desire.

Cool it, dude.

Jules bit into the cupcake. Rum and lemon, spices and small bits of fruit blended into perfection.

“What do you think?”

The question pulled him from a haze of tastes and desire. What about me licking this icing from your breasts? Had he said that aloud?

“Well?” She turned.

He nearly dropped the rest of the cupcake. Her face belonged to his memories of the star of his teenage fantasies. Alarms clanged. Trouble. He drew a deep breath. This time he intended to succeed.

“Actually the flavor’s great. Fruitcake but light. The spices, fruit and icing blend perfectly.”

Chapter Two

A frown creased Grace’s forehead. Did she know this man? Something resonated in her memories but no name bobbed to the surface. He resembled the faceless man of her fantasies. The hair, short and styles instead of long and shaggy. Was he someone she’d seen on TV, except she watched cooking shows, not sports, prime time or movies?

“How did you get in here?”

“By the door.”

His crooked grin brought a name closer to the surface. Did he look like someone she should know? “Why did Bonnie let you come into the kitchen?”

“The arrival of a flock of customers derailed her.”

Grace sucked in a breath. Who was he? He was too young and too well-dressed to be one of the men her mother had dragged home years ago. “Do you really think the cupcake is good?”

“I do.” He finished the last bite and crumpled the paper. With a flick of his wrist he tossed the small wad into the trash bin across the room. “You’ve achieved a miracle. Edible fruitcake.”

His smooth words spread over her skin like a swatch of velvet. Whoever he was he talked about the treat like a man who knew food. Was he a rival? Had he come to steal her recipes? He certainly hadn’t appeared to ask for a job. Not when he wore what looked like custom-made clothes.

“What will you call this one?”

Grace stepped back. The cold marble of the worktable edge pressed against her back. “Fruitcake.”

“Not like any I’ve ever tasted.” He grinned. “I hate holiday parties where the hostess pushed dark dense stuff she’d ordered by mail or baked.”

Grace laughed. “I’ve eaten some of that kind. This was my sixteenth try to make an edible one.”

He stepped closer. “Persistence pays. You’ve created a light cake with the traditional flavors and the right amount of fruit. The touch of rum in the frosting is perfect.” He raked his fingers messing his perfectly stylish dark hair. “Is it legal?”

“Just a flavor essence.” Definitely the competition. Warmth shone in his deep brown eyes. When he stepped in her direction she grasped the pastry bag. “Who are you?”

“Don’t you remember me? I’ve never forgotten you.”

The dimple in his left cheek made her want to touch. Seduction filled his voice. A whiff of evergreen beneath the aroma of the bakers reached her. He oozed the kind of danger she had to time to allow in her life. The suggestive gleam in his eyes raised a need to run. Only, she was trapped.

He placed his hand on her arm. Though the touch was light she felt as though his fingers branded her. “Think back, Grace.”

“I’ve never seen you before.”

“Sure you have.”

“Really?”

“I sure remember you. Years a go I made a play and you turned me down. When I said you would be sorry, you said I would be the one to regret.”

With warp speed her thoughts flew to the fence between the group homes. Was he really? He looked so different from the boy she’d known. The features of the face in her thoughts matured and became the man crowding her space.

“Jules Grayson, what are you doing here?”

“Representing Good Eatin’. Since you refused to sign the contract for a future feature article I thought the personal touch might work. I didn’t realize who you were until you turned.”

A smile broke her somber mood. “Most of my communication was with Allie Blakefield.”

“You and I spoke twice but the moment I mentioned the magazine you hung up. Just listen to my spiel. I’m sure I’ll do a better job of making the case than I did years ago.”

Though knowing he didn’t plan to steal her recipes her instincts remained on high alert. Her thoughts raced from what had been to what ifs. Not a good place to be.

“I sent the proposal back unsigned. The feature doesn’t fit with my plans for growing the business. A year from now or maybe two I might take a chance. I’ve seen too many in this field move to fast and fail.”

His eyes narrowed. “You didn’t read the proposal carefully. All expenses are covered by Good Eatin’ and you’ll be paid for the recipes the magazine prints.”

“That’s not why. You’ve seen my entire staff. I’m baker, decorator, bookkeeper and sometimes salesperson.” She scowled. “I’m even the cleaning crew with Bonnie’s help.”

A buzzer sounded. “Move. I need to pull the pans.” She pulled on gloves and went to the oven. One by one she transferred the trays from the oven to the cooling rack.

“Cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg,” he said. “What are they?”

“Add a touch of vanilla and you have Pumpkin Pie.”

He inhaled. “I could be tempted to try every flavor.”

“Think of the calories.”

He arched a brow. “I can think of ways to work them off.”

Grace removed the last tray from the oven. She had no intention of asking how. “Since you’ve come for that reason why don’t you leave? I’ll give you a box of today’s favorites. Share them with your significant other.”

“There’s no one.”

She returned to the work table and assembled the dry ingredients for another batch. She placed flour and a sack of chocolate powder with the eggs and butter. “You should leave.”

“Why?”

She pulled cayenne and powered jalapenos from the spice shelf along with vanilla beans. “I’m making Chocolate Fire and I don’t want a cleaning bill for your light gray jacket and trousers.” He had definitely succeeded in the ten years since he’d left the group home.

“We need to talk about the offer.” He crossed his arms.

Grace slid past him for the baking powder, salt and milk. “I know the opportunity would be great. I’m just not ready to take the risk.”

“Your cupcakes impressed Allie Blakefield. That’s hard to do. Besides restaurants Good Eatin’ features small establishments producing good food. Have dinner with me and we can discuss the pros and cons.”

Again his temperature-raising grin appeared. “I can’t. We’re open until nine tonight. Then there’s clean up, planning for tomorrow and a run to the bank.”

“What time do you close tomorrow?”

“At six.”

“I’ll be by then. We’ll go to dinner. You choose the place.” He closed the distance between them. His lips brushed hers. “Years ago you said no. I was a fool and crude. Won’t happen again.”

Grace froze. Her knees locked and kept her upright. His whispered words and hot breath swirled over her. She felt as if she’d been sucked into a whirlpool with no escape. He’d been trouble as a teenager. As an adult he’d become dangerous.

* * *